


Promontory

by tiamatv



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sunsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: Knowing what Castiel did now, he thought that the beauty of sunsets had probably been unintentional.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 22
Kudos: 111





	Promontory

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Profound Bond 30-minute prompt challenge: here are [the lovely, atmospheric prompt images](https://knightiesart.tumblr.com/post/616413822040817664/some-of-my-favorite-sky-doodles)
> 
> Thanks to our wonderful mods for arranging this!
> 
> This is fluff. This is nothing but pretty scenery, domesticity, and fluff. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it! No beta, just speed writing. -sheepish-

Castiel had never appreciated sunsets when he’d been an Angel of the Lord.

No, that wasn’t true. They’d been a work of God, a moment of beauty in the firmament, and for that, he’d given praise. But the spin of the Earth had been quotidian, and so _fleeting_ ; he’d no more have stopped and thought about the end of another day than he’d have thought about eating, or defecation. The fact that it was a necessity didn’t make it either pleasurable or painful. It _was_.

Knowing what he did now, he thought that the beauty of them had probably been unintentional. His Father—or Chuck—or whoever he was and had been, world without end, amen—wouldn’t have celebrated the coming of night that way. Night wasn’t the Darkness, but it was its cousin, and sometimes Castiel thought (uncharitably) that that was why God had allowed the things that were frightening to go running around in it. If humans didn’t know well enough to be afraid of the Darkness, then by God, they would be afraid of the dark.

He’d earned some uncharitableness.

Sam and Dean had laughed and _laughed_ when Castiel had gone on, once, about how in so many ways the daytime could be so much more _harmful_ than night. Sunburn! Melanoma! Heat mirages! Heatstroke! Nine-to-five office jobs!

Castiel was a little bit less than he had been, before, now—his world seemed so much smaller than it had, when all he had been responsible for was battling for Heaven’s righteousness. He was still an angel, but no longer certain. He was graced, but not infinite. Time had meaning, even if it would never debilitate or kill him. Heaven was beautiful and flawed, and it had not been his place in some years now, even though it would always be his home.

Or his childhood, he supposed.

But the sunset was beautiful, on this lovers’ point—so named, Castiel had learned, because young teenagers had once parked their cars on these cliffs overlooking small Midwestern towns. It was ostensibly the view, but in reality, it was kissing and exploring and learning in the back seats those things that had once made Castiel sigh and turn away, bored.

“Now they just sext,” Dean had informed Castiel, with a snort.

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam had sighed.

“Should I learn how to do that?” Jack had asked, eagerly. “I’m a teenager.”

Castiel didn’t _think_ Jack was learning humor, but if he was, he was very effective at making beverages come out of the Winchester brothers’ noses.

Maybe Dean had the right of it, though. The view was beautiful, but the promontory had been empty, when they pulled the Impala up onto it.

Dean tugged out a half-cold beer for each of them, pulling himself achily onto the hood, one hand to his taped ribs. Castiel mimicked his position—shoes kicked off and lying limp on the grass in front of Baby’s bumper, his hips nestled into the crease between windshield and hood, socks getting very little traction on the thick metal. They chuckled and shifted, and, eventually, were comfortable. Dean’s shoulder bumped into Castiel’s. He didn’t move it.

In another hour or two, they would be home from their hunt—to Sam, cooking chicken noodle soup for Jack, who had a cold. Castiel didn’t know why they had stopped. But he didn’t complain.

The sky burned in front of him, and it wasn’t like when the world had been dying, a few years ago. Clouds scudded purple, as if they had somewhere to be. The sun was intense and burnished, the light like that inside of a bordello.

(Castiel knew Dean, though, and he knew better than to make this comparison aloud.)

The warming reddish color of fading sunlight kissed across Dean’s forehead and darkened his irises from green to infinity. His freckles were invisible, swallowed up by the oncoming night. But Castiel knew they were there. The Impala was sun-warm under Castiel, even through his suit and his slacks and his ubiquitous, beloved coat.

“It’s pretty, huh?” Dean said, languidly, sipping his beer. A trickle of it spilled over his lip and down his chin. He laughed and reached up to wipe it away with his thumb.

Castiel got there first, leaning over him.

Dean’s lips tasted of hops, sour fermentation, and a little of the peculiar savor of the salt that was on french fries. His scruff was like electricity, or the return of grace, underneath Castiel’s palm. He sucked in a breath, like he was breathing from Castiel’s lungs, and Castiel tasted that, too.

When they parted, enough of the sun had sunk below the horizon that Castiel’s silhouette traced Dean in shadows, not fire. Hell was hot and sticky and dry all at the same time, the cling of it red and harsh, but evening on Earth as the sun disappeared around the curve of the planet was cool and temperate. Dean was staring up at him, wide-eyed, delicious lips parted.

He looked shocked, but not horrified. Electric, but not pained.

It was a lovers’ point, and a sunset, red and gold and an incongruous electric pink, so alive that Castiel could feel his heart beating in his ears, and whether or not Dean had meant it so—Castiel did.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, hoarse. Then, again. “Cas.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, softly, rubbing his thumb over his beloved’s cheek before he turned to lie back on Baby’s familiar, thrumming bulk and closed his eyes—content with his recklessness in the light of the passing of another day. “It’s beautiful. It really is.”

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I wrote something for a timed challenge, and gosh, this was so much fun!
> 
> This delightful challenge came from the [Profound Bond Discord Server](https://discord.gg/profoundbond). If you're so inclined to share in the madness, come join us!


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